


Poison is a Comfort.

by lightruined



Series: Mercy and Carnage. [1]
Category: FFXIV, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 19:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightruined/pseuds/lightruined
Summary: Zenos yae Galvus sought his friend, his enemy—instead he found the beast he craved.





	Poison is a Comfort.

The battlefield is boundless. It stretches from horizon to horizon; corpses bestrew the bloodied ground. Carnage, it is never-ending. Steel grinds against steel as the heavy steps of Zenos, met the ground again and _again_. Shrill wails fill the crimson-soaked air. Dusk has fallen, harsh colors of dark red and yellow painting the darkening expanse of the sky.

His friend— _his enemy_ remains.

His head throbs, with each out of time beat of his heart. He knows not of this language of euphoria. His heart hungers and hungers to feel _more_. 

His prey—no, his _equal_ is close. His bones sing with the exhilaration of it. His exhilaration is a poisonous, _poisonous_ thing that has claws. It demands _more_ , always _more_.

The Warrior stands tall, light dancing between fingers. An imperial is cowering before her, fingers digging into the soil. Dirt, gore, and bruises mar their face. Their sobs for mercy, never-ending much like the Ruby Sea.

Zenos stops and observes, face a blank canvas without the paint of feeling.

Only fascination remains.

Light blinds, when it curls around the imperial’s wrists—screaming become higher and higher.

It ceases when light cuts clean through the flesh of a pale throat—crimson pours, as they choke on their pleadings. Death claims, as they slump to the ground—lips parted in an eternal, silent scream.

“My beast,” he says, voice low.

She does not hear. Her fingers are slicked in crimson and eyes are adorned with madness. Light once more hangs in the air before it dances between sundered flesh and veins. It slowly weaves together. The imperial chokes, silent scream flourishing into life once more when the sharp edge of the Warrior’s staff sinks into their abdomen.

“My friend, how _beautiful_ you are like this,” he whispers, the ghost of joy haunting his flesh with each tug of the corners of his lips, upwards.

She was his to mould, into a creature of violence—of war, like him.

His laugh is high and cuts like a sword.


End file.
